Let It Be
by 24-7Fanfictioner
Summary: Sam works as a prostitute while going to Stanford. Most clients blur in his mind but one sticks out. slight AU, Sam/Crowley, explicit slash and other themes.


Summary: Sam Winchester works as a prostitute to help pay for living expenses while he goes to Stanford. Most clients blur together but there's a particular one that refuses to be thrown in with the rest of them and is set on leaving his mark on the college student. Crowley/Sam, transgendered Jess, AU, explicit slash!

((I'll be posting the rest as soon as I figure out how AU I want to make this-review if you want to make me happy!))

Sam Winchester shifts uneasily, hands buried deep in his holy jeans, shivering in his too thin black hoody. It's the middle of November and the sun has been down for a few hours now-not helping in the cold. A passerby that doesn't know this street or what it means would think that the man is crazy, dressing in such form fitting too thin clothes in this kind of weather at this time of night.

Those who do know what the street is also know that the people standing around are prostitutes, a surprising number around college age trying to pay their way through their education with their bodies. Sam is one of those but he's also separate. He's male, which is an instant limiting of his clientele, but he's also tall and broad, muscular in such a way that people can tell he knows how to fight and you don't want to screw with him. Still, he has relatively fair prices and an attractive body, so he isn't standing on the street for long when he is there at all.

It helps that he'll pretty much do anything for a price and can take more than most-much more.

With another shiver he pulls out his cell phone, checking the time. It's nearing midnight and if a customer doesn't show up soon he'll have to call it and just head back home. He still has an exam in Lit. to study for, anyways.

Another ten minutes goes by and he finally just pulls out a book he'd stuffed into his back pocket before leaving. 'Jitterbug Perfume' by Tom Robbins is good and eccentric, like all the books Robbins writes, and he quickly falls back into the pages and away from the reality of the cold and the rubbers in his pocket.

"A prostitute who knows how to read? What is the world coming to?" A voice interrupts, accented in a way that is clearly not American but hell if Sam is any good with placing accents.

Lowering the book, he looks over the man slowly, taking in details. Ridiculously expensive clothes in all black that are perfectly tailored to the man's body. Black, carefully styled hair and dark irises that in another life would have instantly made him suspicious. He's attractive in a refined and slick way. He also instantly trips almost every single trigger Sam has-some of which he didn't know about until this moment.

"The world is coming to a state where college kids become whores to stay college kids," Sam says, shrugging as he stuffs the book back in his pocket.

The man raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised that Sam answered at all.

"Either way, for what you're here for, I highly doubt that my taste in literature will effect anything. However, what I can do with my tongue..." here he trails off, giving the man an obvious suggestive once over again, making his point clear.

His eyes darken and he strides forward, covering the distance between them in less time than Sam would have thought him capable of but is oddly fitting. With a blink, he has Sam shoved against the wall and pinned with his hips, both hands preoccupied by trapping his wrists to the sides of his body.

Dark eyes burn into his and Sam suddenly feels much smaller and than his 6'4" frame and a hell of a lot more powerless.

"You're right. Not as if we'll be able to discuss anything with my cock shoved down your throat." The man says and Sam knows that it's going to be a long night-and he's actually looking forward to it. He tries not to analyze that as the man drags him back to a limo of all things parked in the street. He also doesn't look too deeply into the fact that the way the man overpowers him and shoves him in without any difficulty has him more turned on than he can remember being in years.

…...

Groaning, Sam rolls out of bed and blinks at the clock, trying to remember the night before. The man and his limo... Looking down, he groans again. Very definite hand shaped bruises mar his hips, hickies spread liberally throughout and bruises on his wrists that can only be rope burns. His ass burns and reminds him even more of the activities of last night.

Gingerly he stands up, wincing at his sore muscles' protests but pushing through it all the same. Looking over at his pile of clothes he sees a white envelope among the mess and snatches it up, opening it. Staring back at him is roughly two thousand dollars. His eyes nearly pop out of his skull and his hands tremble slightly.

Dark eyes flash through his mind and he can't suppress the shudder they cause-doesn't want to. But like a good little whore, he shoves the thoughts away in a place where they won't bother him, where that man won't haunt him like the ghosts he's spent his entire life destroying. He just as resolutely blocks out the faint taste of sulfur and chocolate lingering on his tongue.

...

After Dark Eyes, as Sam dubbed him in his head, came around the first time Sam didn't work for several months after. He didn't need to with a couple thousand dollars in his bank and bruises that were still healing. Eventually, though, the money ran out again and he went back to his trusty corner with a few new clothes and a book with him at all times. Dark Eyes and people like him like the idea of Sam being some quiet and shy nerd so he helpfully gave them fodder for their fantasy.

If there's anything he's good at, it's playing people.

As a beat up pickup pulls up and some burly guy jumps out, Sam does not think about how Dark Eyes saw past almost every charade that Sam threw at him.

…...

Before he knows it he's halfway through his sophomore year at college and has somehow managed to land himself a part time job at a cafe and an off campus apartment with a roommate named Jess. The job pays decent, enough that he now only needs to walk the streets a handful of times a month, and splitting the low rent with Jess helps a lot in the money department as well.

He met Jess at the end of freshman year and they hit it off. Not romantically, but in a close friendship sort of way. Sam may have been interested but after a while of hanging out with each other, Jess told Sam that he is actually trans and asexual because of it. At first Sam didn't know what to think or do but everything blew over soon enough and they just became closer because of it. So what did it matter that his best friend is a 'man with a man cave instead of a man bat'? It just means that sharing a place was ideal and saved a lot of headaches on both their sides.

Tonight is Jess's study group night and also a night for him to once again sell his ass to the quickest bidder. Throwing on his usual 'working clothes' of tight and dark clothes, he stops upon seeing the bag of freshly baked cookies and cup of steaming coffee sitting on his desk with a pink sticky note attached to it, telling him it's going to be chilly out and signed by Jess's usual smiley face in lieu of an actual name.

"Not as if there's anyone else that lives here and leaves you notes!" He'd defended when Sam teased him about it, which is true but he still can't help the chuckle every time he sees it.

Still smiling, he randomly decides to go with thick black sweets and equally thick dark blue Stanford sweatshirt instead. None of his customers will complain since it just makes it easier for them to undress him if that's what they want to do. And he's tired of freezing his balls off every night he has to go out there!

Opening one of his desk drawers he deliberates over which condoms to bring with him. All of them are higher quality because really? What's the point in doing this to stay alive only to die of some nasty STD? Picking one at random he outright laughs when he sees that it's the purple, grape flavored ones that his friend Marisa got him as some kind of practical joke. The girl is dirty and one of the only other ones besides Jess that knows about his other part time job.

With a shrug and a smile, he stuffs them in his pocket and heads out, grabbing 'World War Z' on his way out. This is technically his second time reading it.

He makes it to his usual spot fine and, oddly enough, doesn't see anyone else there. Usually there's at least a couple of other girls but the street is deserted. And it isn't that cold but Sam shrugs it off and finishes the rest of his mint flavored coffee and polishes off another cookie.

Headlights sweep over his corner as someone turns onto the street and drive towards him. Dean has always been the car guy but Sam picked up a few things from him-such as the fact that the car is a cherry red 1985 Mustang with a custom paint job of black and gold flames across it.

The car pulls up to him and he doesn't know what he expects to slide out of it, but it certainly isn't what he gets. Dark Eyes gets out of the car looking exactly like he did a year ago, black suit and all.

"'Ello luv, you miss me?" Dark Eyes drawls, striding forward, his eyes hungrily taking in Sam in all his sweatpanted and sweatshirted glory.

"You, your money," Sam shrugs carelessly but doesn't take his eyes off the still approaching man, "Same thing for a whore like me."

"Ah, but there aren't any whores like you." Dark Eyes observes, now standing in front of him-so close he can feel his breath hit his face and smell Dark Eyes's unique mixture of chocolate and something he will not label as sulfur.

"Aw, I bet you say that to all the girls!" Sam says, grinning crookedly and trying to dissuade his nether regions from getting so hyped up simply by the man being near him, not even touching him yet. And fuck, he wants Dark Eyes to touch him. To claim him and mark him and make him stop doing everything but feeling it. That's what he wants and what he should never want. The man is a client and all he wants is an easy lay with no strings attached that he can do anything with. More likely than not, he is married with at least two kids and only has vanilla sex and only on a certain day every two weeks or something.

That is, when he isn't with someone like Sam.

Dark Eyes laughs and Sam should be surprised but really isn't that it's so deep and sends tingles sparking across his entire body. Even so, he shuts that down damn quick because it's one thing to lust after a client-it's another thing entirely to get all girly and emotional about it.

As if feeling the mood shift, Dark Eyes instantly sobers and the next thing Sam knows, he's trapped in those steel arms against the same wall as a year ago.

"Unfortunately, I do not have much time to spend here. So let's make this quick, shall we?" Sam nods eagerly, even if a tiny speck of him is disappointed at that. He pulls out the grape flavored purple condoms and Dark Eyes just raises an eyebrow, bemused.

Sam flushes and damnit, he's a hooker and doesn't blush about things like this, but Dark Eyes makes him act strangely.

Swiftly he falls on his knees in the limited space between the wall and Dark Eyes, hastily getting to work on the leather belt and unbuttoning his trousers. Before undoing the zipper he glances up at the man. Nervously, he asks, "What's your name?"

"Crowley. Just Crowley."

Sam grins up at him, practically beaming before mumbling, "I'm Sam." and unzipping him and taking him out in record time. He strokes 'Crowley' a few times, ridiculously pleased that he's already fully hard. Just as quickly he tears open the condom with his teeth and rolls it expertly on to Crowley's dick. With one last glance upwards he dives forward and deepthroats it in the first go. He got rid of the pesky gag reflex months ago.

The taste of grapes and latex seeps across his tongue, not entirely unpleasant. Crowley is a sight bigger than most of his clients but he's long since taught himself to ignore the ache in his jaw and burn in his throat.

"Ah, fuck Sam. Knew there was a reason I wanted to come back." Crowley growls above him. Sam grins around the cock in his mouth, humming in approval that makes Crowley's hips stutter forward. When no resistance comes from Sam, he pushes forward again deliberately and is rewarded with Sam simultaneously swallowing around him and humming.

"Shit, fuck, hell!" He growls, not knowing when the minx picked up all these tricks but willing to appreciate it none-the-less. With that he lets loose, drilling into Sam's mouth who eagerly shows him all the other tricks he's picked up and somehow manages to not only take what Crowley gives him but worship his cock at the same time.

At some point Crowley's hand finds his way to his hair, gripping tightly while his other hangs by his side. When Sam suddenly uses a small amount of teeth scraping just below his head that hand slaps against the wall with a bitten out, "Fuck!" and a hummed approval from Sam that doesn't improve the situation at all.

It takes only about five minutes before Sam feels the pulses on his tongue and hears Crowley fall apart with stuttered curses. With one last suck that makes the hand in his hair clamp down viciously, he gently pulls back from the spent man, carefully taking off the condom and tying it before pulling out some kleenex and cleaning the rest off. With a soft kiss, he tucks it back into the boxers, going so far as to do up the pants and belt before finally pulling away and looking up.

Crowley is flushed and breathing deeply. Trying to pull himself back together probably so that he can go back to his wife and children without any signs of what he'd just been doing-what he'd just been letting Sam do. He takes a step back, allowing Sam more room to maneuver himself to a standing position again.

"Well, darling, excellent as always." Crowley says, composure once again achieved as he brushes off the non-existent dust from his suit.

"I do aim to please." Sam says with his voice slightly hoarse. Something flickers in the man's gaze before his lips are suddenly sealed on Sam's, all teeth and tongue with the taste of warmth and heat and it's so good that Sam practically whines in his throat as he enthusiastically contributes. At one point Sam's lower lip gets bitten so hard it starts bleeding but it just adds to everything and Crowley's hands are at his hips in a bruising grip and his leg is between Sam's legs and rocking against his neglected length and then Crowley's mouth descends to his neck and bites and kisses and licks and it is all Sam can do to lean against the wall and use him as support because the world is falling apart and the air smells like sulphur and ozone and everything is-light bursts behind his eyes and the world stops as orgasm shakes through him.

Moments later the world eases back into focus to find Sam alone in the alley, slumped on the ground with an envelope on his lap that undoubtedly contains two thousand dollars. It takes a moment for him to realize that his lip and some places on his neck are bleeding but by the time he does he just smiles and stands on shaky legs, heading back to the apartment.

When Jess looks startled upon seeing his state, he just gives her the 'don't ask if you don't want to know' look and she backs off. Weeks later his neck has healed but there's still a few small scars that will never go away and only fade in time. Sam tries hard not to be pleased by that.


End file.
